


A Measure Of Success

by entanglednow



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bodies How Do They Work, First Time, Historical, M/M, No one knows what they're doing, Plot What Plot, Sex Education, Virginity Is A Weird Concept, awkward virgins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22144270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: In which Aziraphale is told to acquaint himself with human sexual customs and practices. There's really only one person to go to for assistance.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 93
Kudos: 781





	A Measure Of Success

Crowley had hoped, when he invited Aziraphale back to his small, grubby set of rooms just outside Rome, that they could catch up a little, talk about something other than work. Maybe he could even take him out for a plate of dormice or something, he'd heard they were the exciting new delicacy around here. He didn't particularly fancy the ones they stuffed with fruit and spices, but he'd be willing to try one, for Aziraphale. Because he hasn't missed the fact that the angel tends to get excited whenever Crowley eats with him, though he's not entirely convinced by the whole food thing himself yet. Rolling stuff around in his mouth and breaking it into mushier bits still doesn't really appeal.

But Aziraphale isn't doing much talking, in fact he's been quiet for while now, folded on the low couch next to him, with a morose expression on his face that Crowley's starting to take personally.

"So, what's up with you then, you've been doing more staring into your wine than drinking it, and it's actually pretty good for a change." There aren't even any bits floating in it or anything, and not just the ones they tend to shove in for added flavour. "They're really getting the fermenting down."

Aziraphale doesn't even perk up at that, and normally he'd be up to talk about the wine all evening. Having opinions about things, especially things that have a flavour, the angel loves that.

"I was called into a meeting last week," Aziraphale says, then frowns down at his cup, as if he'd forgotten he was holding it. 

Crowley waits, because he suspects the pause isn't an opening for him to reply, but rather to steel Aziraphale for some sort of awkward admission. The angel squeezes his hands around what's left of his wine and gives a long sigh.

"I was told that I should make an effort to acquaint myself with local sexual customs and practices," he says miserably.

Crowley gives him a significant look over his wine. Because the way Aziraphale phrased that almost makes it sound like the Archangels are ordering him to - to - Satan's tits, that can't be what he means.

"They didn't mean -"

Aziraphale nods sadly, before Crowley can get the rest out. "Yes, I'm fairly certain that they did, in fact, mean that." He takes a long drink of his own wine, as Crowley digests that bit of information, then holds his empty cup out, so Crowley can refill it. Which he does, because with that bit of information he's earned as much wine as he can drink.

"Really?" Crowley's face screws up in disbelief. Because the idea of angels telling Aziraphale to go off and learn how to have sex with people is a bit - "That's a bit lewd of them," he decides on. Because he honestly can't think of any other way to describe it. Nothing that doesn't involve swearing.

Aziraphale pulls a face, as if he's holding in rather a lot he'd quite like to say, and Crowley suspects none of it is complimentary to Heaven.

"Yes, well, apparently there was a bit of a to-do, due to Barachiel not making any genitalia for the public baths," Aziraphale tells him. 

Crowley sucks a breath at the thought of it. Because, _honestly_ , making sure you have genitals, preferably the right sort, is one of the first things they tell you downstairs if you're going to be interacting with humans. Also, it's best to have a corporation with no weird moles, or birthmarks, or extra nipples, if you can help it, lest you get sacrificed to some god or other. Crowley has been mostly winging it on 'probably some sort of demigod half-breed.' Since people are still fairly reluctant to throw vegetables at some god's bastard spawn. The ones that aren't as reluctant, well, Crowley knows exactly where to shove their vegetables.

But no genitals, really? That's a rookie mistake that is.

"Yeah, I'd imagine that'd cause a fair bit of conversation." Possibly also screaming, people are so touchy about their genitals.

Aziraphale looks genuinely frustrated - and Crowley likes to think it's at the ineptitude of Heaven.

"Luckily, I managed to convince them that he simply had a horrible birth defect, and should be pitied, but there was a memo and everything - oh, it's all rather seedy." Aziraphale's face pinches in, and Crowley can't help but imagine how that particular memo was worded. Angels aren't much for nuance and subtlety. "And naturally I've been thinking of nothing else."

"They can't just make you though," Crowley reasons. The very idea of it should be appalling, that was the sort of thing you got from somewhere like Hell, surely. He has a lot of shitty opinions about angels - he's allowed, really, he used to be one - but even he wouldn't have pegged them as the sort to try and whore out their own. "Surely they're not going to _make_ you."

"No, I believe it's more of a firm suggestion," Aziraphale says, as if that's any bloody better. "But one I don't believe they're going to drop any time soon."

"Ugh." Crowley pours them both more wine, because clearly Aziraphale is going to need it. Normally he's the one being given distasteful, demoralizing tasks from head office, but this is a new low, even for Heaven. Aziraphale doesn't deserve this, not when he's the only one doing any actual work on earth, the only one who genuinely seems to give a shit about anything down here. Not when he knows perfectly well to make a bloody penis if he wants to wander around naked. 

"So, are you going to do it?" Crowley asks, mouth twisted in something he suspects is sympathy. Aziraphale is to blame for at least a dozen of his facial expressions. He must be, because they don't show up for anyone else.

Aziraphale squeezes his hands together and makes a deeply conflicted noise.

"I had intended to - to follow direction, if I could find someone amenable. But I didn't want to - well - with someone I didn't know, and accepting guidance from anyone who hasn't expressly shown interest in me feels at best exceedingly impolite, and at worst morally abhorrent." He pauses and looks guilty, as if he'd considered it as a possibility and it still bothered him. "The task of finding an appropriate partner aside - well, the humans make it look so easy. But, of course, we're not human and these things don't, as they say, 'come naturally' to us. What if I do something wrong? What if I do something wrong and someone _notices_ , that seems like the sort of thing that would be upsetting in an...an intimate situation." He looks at Crowley, and then very quickly looks away again.

Crowley lowers his cup with a wary sort of expectation, because he's more than smart enough to see where this might be going.

Aziraphale is still folding his hands over each other, where they hold his cup, nervous, tight little movements hard enough to crack his own knuckles. As if he's trying to work out how to say something - or the best way of saying something.

"And so I just thought, it would be most sensible, and efficient, if I went to someone who had the appropriate skills. Someone who was also not human, someone that I knew and trusted -"

_Trusted_ , Satan's balls, Crowley needs to pack that away somewhere for later. But he's already spotted a flaw in Aziraphale's cunning plan.

"Nope," he says, before Aziraphale can get any deeper into his awkward, embarrassed speech.

Aziraphale's hopeful expression immediately falls into something apologetic.

"Of course, no, of course, I mean I would never expect - or pressure you into anything. Just because we are familiar with each other. I would never take advantage of - I just thought I would ask, in case you were amenable -"

Crowley should probably save the angel from himself.

"No, I mean I don't have any skills. I haven't done it either," he corrects, before the angel can squirm himself into some sort of actual knot. Because Aziraphale does have a tendency to run on, when he thinks he's done something socially awkward, or culturally inappropriate. Still, he doesn't have to look so surprised about it. "Well, they're human aren't they?" Crowley protests, gesturing in a way he hopes conveys what he's getting at. "Always seemed a bit grubby to try and learn it from them, and they're never around for long, I just didn't fancy the whole business, getting all unpleasantly sweaty and mingling bodily fluids, learning names and things, only for them to drop dead a decade later." 

"But you're so..." Aziraphale doesn't finish, but he does suddenly look uncomfortable.

Crowley can't help but react to the insinuation there - whatever it was. "So what?" he asks tightly, and raises an eyebrow.

"Well, with your whole aesthetic I naturally assumed." 

"You _naturally assumed_?" Crowley says bitterly, because that hurts more than he'd expected from Aziraphale. "Is this a demon thing? You think because I'm a demon I have to be all - with the seducing and nudity?" Crowley hopes he looks as offended as he feels. Because he feels pretty bloody offended. "That I'm just constantly inviting humans back to mine, and having my way with them?"

"No," Aziraphale says immediately. "No, Heaven's no, Crowley. I just meant that you're very handsome. And so I expected that you would have had considerable interest, and over the years would have taken advantage of it." The angel has that crumpled look of apology now, Crowley hates that look. It always feels like a failure somehow. 

"Interest, yeah, I've had _interest_ , mostly of the offering me money kind." Crowley had been more annoyed about being bothered the first time it happened, and the second, but it's become enough of a theme, that he'd started to suspect that there was actually something about him that looked available, and also possibly cheap. 

"Oh, that's terribly ironic." Aziraphale gives a nervous laugh. "Because I find myself most often approached by gentlemen offering to...well, see to my needs for money."

_See to his needs for money_ \- Crowley isn't sure whether he's offended on the angel's behalf, or weirdly jealous of some bastard feeling confident enough to just proposition an angel for sex.

What's the world coming to, seriously?

"Yeah, yeah, laugh a minute." He drains his wine, and then he's left staring at his empty cup with the growing realisation that he's going to say yes. He's going to agree to have sex with Aziraphale. If only so he doesn't go off with one of these dozens of men who clearly want to get their grubby hands on him - and his money, obviously. And because it's the proper demon thing to do, isn't it? Taking an angel's virginity, they'd probably give him a medal for that, or a promotion maybe. If he ever planned to tell anyone. "Right pair of idiots we are. Alright, fine, why not, how hard could it be, right?"

Aziraphale looks surprised for a moment, as if he'd genuinely expected Crowley to refuse. And Crowley really hopes the angel's not going to tell him he's suddenly changed his mind, admit that he'd wanted someone experienced and let him down gently. Satan, Crowley's taking all the wine and leaving if that happens.

"Really?" Aziraphale's smile is sudden, and nervous, but impossibly pleased. "Oh. Oh, Crowley, thank you. I'm so very glad. I was so worried and I didn't _know_ anyone, not really. And it seemed like the sort of thing that you can't just jump into and expect everything to go well. I really didn't want to do something like this with a stranger."

And that's the heart of the matter for Crowley, isn't it? Because he's been thinking about nothing else for the last ten minutes and he's decided that he doesn't want Aziraphale doing this with anyone else. He doesn't want anyone else to hear Aziraphale's quiet noises of surprise, or his excited little sounds of discovery as he learns something new. He doesn't want anyone else sliding their hands all over Aziraphale's body and touching him and making him...feel things. If anyone should be doing that, then it should be Crowley.

It should be Crowley.

He seriously considers pouring himself another cup of wine. But decides that drunk sex is not what they're going for here. He's seen how that tends to turn out for the humans. Usually badly. Sometimes there's even crying. He doesn't want to make Aziraphale cry.

"Right, good, shall I take my clothes off then?" Crowley asks, because it's probably best if he just powers through on fake confidence here. He pushes himself to his feet and sets his cup down on one of the low tables. "I mean that's what people normally do, isn't it?"

"Oh, really?" Aziraphale looks suddenly flustered, rising with him and awkwardly gesturing with his cup, until Crowley nods to the table and watches him set it down hard enough that it rolls for a second, splashing wine on the already stained wood. "Did you want to just jump right into it now then?"

"Don't have anything else pressing at the moment," Crowley says, rather than admit how much the idea has intrigued him. Also, the thought of Aziraphale changing his mind is still something of a worry.

"Well then, yes, alright. If that's - umm, convenient for you. I'm amenable to starting now." Aziraphale rubs his hands on his long, white tunic, and Crowley isn't sure if the damp is from nerves or wine. "I mean, we haven't discussed what you'd like to do, or umm, which genitalia you'd prefer. I currently have a penis but I could change it, if you wanted, if there was something you preferred?" 

He says that as if Crowley has any idea of what he would like, or of what he'd prefer to do. Though there's a shivery undertone of arousal to him now, that's telling him he'd probably be happy with anything Aziraphale wanted from him, any combination of genitals that pleased him. But the sudden and very real possibility of him trying to concentrate on getting his dick in Aziraphale, while neither of them know what they're doing, is a little overwhelming. Mostly due to the very simple fact that he doesn't trust himself not to fuck it up. What if he's terrible at it? What if something goes wrong? He's a fucking demon after all, what if he gets carried away and hurts Aziraphale by accident?

Yeah, he's definitely not risking that.

"I have a dick too right now, and, yeah, whatever you want is fine. And I guess since you have the right equipment you should probably fuck me. You're the one that's supposed to be, y'know, researching the whole thing, and s'efficient that way, I guess." Crowley doesn't see the angel's expression, he's too busy unwrapping and lifting his long black tunic over his head, sending his fashionably short hair into what's likely to be an unflattering mess. He's not wearing anything underneath, so it doesn't take him very long to strip off, and then throw his clothes on the chair by the bed, in an untidy pile that he knows is probably going to bother the shit out of the angel.

"Oh," Aziraphale says quietly, and it's a little burst of surprise and uncertainty. "I didn't expect you to be so naked so quickly. You're very - yes, you're quite finely made." He says it so awkwardly that Crowley can't help but wince, nothing like an awkward, socially mandated compliment on his physical appearance before they fuck.

"I don't need to be seduced, Aziraphale. I'm a sure thing at this point, remember."

Aziraphale looks guilty at least. "No, I simply - I'm sorry, I didn't know what sort of compliment was appropriate for the moment."

Considering their physical forms were mostly a cobbled together physical manifestation of their occult and ethereal selves, it seems a bit weird to go around having opinions on the exact way they were shaped. Though Crowley will admit to having grown a bit attached to his own corporation. It's tall, and flexible, good at taking him from place to place, and he enjoys the hands, the hands are a highlight. 

"Don't think appropriate really matters between us. Just, y'know, honesty's probably a good bet here." Because if they're not honest about this it's probably not going to go well.

"Yes, of course, of course. Your body is very lovely, it's quite different to mine, and I find it very appealing. Oh, did you, ah, make sure you have all the bodily sensations, umm, the ability to feel sexual arousal?" Aziraphale points, in a way that would probably be rude if Crowley didn't know exactly what he meant. 

Crowley nods, even if he hadn't done that already, he's pretty sure that talking about Aziraphale fucking him would have seen to it fairly well.

"Yeah, it's all hooked up and everything. Feeling everything exactly like a human would. You?"

Aziraphale nods. He seems distracted by the now rather obvious sway of Crowley's dick. Which, ok, fine, is a talking point here, but probably not an appropriate one. Or maybe it is, maybe there's more talking at this point? He hasn't really paid that much attention, outside of orgies where there really isn't anywhere to look that doesn't involve sex in some way. Some of the wall art they do here is bloody obscene.

"Er, you can touch it, if you want," Crowley tells him, because that's what they're here for after all. You can't very well have sex with each other without touching genitals at some point. Though he thinks he could probably have phrased that a little better, made it sound inviting somehow? But Aziraphale looks so unexpectedly pleased by the permission, he takes a few steps forward, hand slowly reaching for him. And the angel's warm fingers touching, and then carefully feeling out the shape of his dick, has all the air leaving Crowley's throat in a helpless sort of whimper.

"Was that - is this alright?" Aziraphale asks quietly, hand stilling, eyes lifted to Crowley's as if to check whether he can continue.

Crowley nods jerkily, can't stop himself reaching a hand down and touching the angel's pale wrist, in a way that he hopes is encouraging. It must be, because Aziraphale's fingers starts slowly moving again. 'Alright,' is something of an understatement. Aziraphale's hand is soft and curious, rubbing back and forth along the underside in a way that make Crowley's spine want to flex and bend in helpless little sways.

"Ah, yeah, yep, that's definitely better when someone else does it," he says hastily, when he realises he's just been nudging into Aziraphale's loosely curled hand, rather than answering his question.

The way Aziraphale is touching him, all tentative fingers and careful grip isn't anything like how Crowley prefers to handle himself, but he's drawing up and stiffening completely all the same.

"Oh, you do like that." Aziraphale sounds surprised, and almost unbearably pleased. The fact that he sounds that way with Crowley's dick in his hand is definitely new and interesting, and that's something he's absolutely going to pack away, and then bring out later when he's touching himself.

"Unh, yeah, s'good. Let me see yours then, since it's going in me, it's only fair."

Aziraphale gives a little huff, but seems to agree that Crowley has a point. He carefully gathers his tunic up, material folded and held away from his groin.

The angel's not entirely soft either now, the length of him has risen slightly away from his pale thigh. Aziraphale hasn't skimped in the dick department, it's equally as pale, solidly thick and heavy, where it juts towards him out of his soft, white pubic hair. The skin covering it looks soft and touchable. Crowley thinks he'd like to put his mouth on it, which is a strangely new thought, not in any way food-based. He suspects it's something to do with the sexual arousal. He wants to touch it, wants to stroke it like the angel did for him, but Aziraphale hasn't asked him to. He doesn't want to just reach out. He doesn't quite know if he's allowed, or if he's allowed to ask, would it be weird if he asked?

Crowley can't help but make a dubious noise at its size though. Which turns Aziraphale's faintly embarrassed look into one of uncertainty.

"Would you like me to change it? If you'd prefer something smaller for your first time -"

Crowley's throat protests with a scoff, before he can entirely consider whether he would indeed prefer to try to shove something slightly smaller up his arse for his first time.

"Nah, s'fine, I mean they do it all the time don't they, all different shapes and sizes and bends and things."

"Are you sure?" Aziraphale lifts his free hand to touch himself, fingers curling with familiarity around the length of it - and something in Crowley's stomach tightens sharply.

"S'fine," he says quickly, because he's made his decision now and it would just look bad if he went back on it. Humans did this all the time. How hard could it be? He moves over to the bed, shoving his spare tunic and Aziraphale's cloak off of it.

Aziraphale makes a confused noise. "Oh, did you not want to - no, of course, of course."

By the time Crowley has turned around to ask what he means, Aziraphale has followed him over, slipping his sandals off with a ridiculous amount of care.

Crowley sits down on the bed, pushes himself backwards and sort of tips his legs open, hopes he doesn't look half as awkward as he feels. Aziraphale does nothing but stare at him for a moment. Before he seems to realise he should be doing something. 

"I think you're supposed to...umm, get on your hands and knees," he offers tentatively.

Right, since Crowley's the one getting _mounted_ after all. He's briefly annoyed by the fact that he won't actually get to touch the angel if he's bent over like that. But Aziraphale is smiling, nervous but definitely interested, his tunic is still rucked up, dick properly hard now. Ah, to Hell with it. Crowley slithers over, gets his knees under him and then lets his spine bend. And apparently he could indeed feel more awkward after all.

Aziraphale makes a shaky, helpless sort of noise, and Crowley honestly doesn't know whether it was a good noise or not. He's never heard it from the angel before. He probably should know, he's been sex-adjacent often enough. But orgies had always been a little too loud and sweaty for him. He's usually just accomplished the temptation, nicked a jug of wine and then fucked off. He's kind of wishing he'd stayed to watch more at this point. He knows the mechanics of it, he knows what it looks like, but that's about it. 

"This feels undignified," Crowley complains. He can't see anything from this position, with his arse on display like it's about to be sold to the highest bidder. He feels exposed, and weirdly vulnerable, neither of which he's particularly happy about.

"It's supposed to be easier for a first time," Aziraphale says, climbing onto the bed behind him. He makes a surprised, wobbly noise like he's briefly knelt on his tunic, hand flattening heavily for a second on Crowley's bare back, as he struggles his way out of it. "Or at least I was told so, when I enquired with a very helpful gentleman in the local drinking establishment."

Crowley shakes his head and drops it between his arms with a huffing laugh, because of course he bloody did.

"I'm going to touch you now, is that alright?"

Crowley sighs, Hell save him from fussy angels. "I agreed to let you fuck me, angel, the touching is kind of assumed."

"Yes, but you're allowed to change your mind if it's at all unpleasant for you. Or if you simply don't find it to your taste." Aziraphale's hands cautiously rest on the narrow slope of his waist, warm and larger than he's expecting, fingers curling where his body pulls in naturally. This is the most they've ever touched already, and Crowley honestly wonders if throwing themselves in the deep end by jamming their corporations together is really the best idea here. "At any time, I'll stop or slow down, if you ask me to."

Crowley makes an annoyed noise of frustrated agreement, just to shut him up. He's a demon for Satan's sake he's not going to spook like a bloody horse if Aziraphale does something indecent - in fact he's pretty sure that Aziraphale's idea of indecent and his own are vastly different. And shoving things in holes is sort of expected at this point.

Aziraphale's hands leave him, and there's a shuffling noise and then the drag of something heavy across the stone floor, towards the end of the bed. Crowley really wants to look over his shoulder, but he also doesn't want to give the impression that he's in any way bothered about what the angel's doing back there. Still, it's a bit of a shock when a warm hand curves over one of his buttocks and spreads him open. Because that's not what Crowley would consider his most appealing angle. But he supposes you can't accomplish this without seeing what you're doing.

There's a moment of cautious, slippery-wet pressure rubbing against the tight clench of his arsehole, before Aziraphale's finger cautiously pushes in. Crowley makes an unhappy noise but lets him do it. 

"Is that good?" Aziraphale asks uncertainly, as if he's afraid to do more until he gets confirmation.

Define 'good' Crowley thinks to himself, and do it in the vaguest possible sense. Still the angel had wanted honest, and if he's going to be doing this to other people, or having it done to him, Crowley doesn't want to mislead him.

"Not really," he says. "Did you oil that?"

"Yes." Aziraphale's fingers spread on his buttock, as if to see what he's doing from a better angle. "They were very insistent on that part."

"Well oil it more," Crowley tells him.

"This is already significantly messier than I was expecting," Aziraphale protests, but does as he's told, if the gloopy sound of a jar being tilted and then spilled is anything to go by. It's a little unnerving, not being able to see what's going on. Though, he supposes, if he didn't trust the angel this wouldn't be happening at all. 

The finger comes back and Crowley can feel the tickly slide of oil down his balls. They're going to make a mess of his bed, and he takes a moment to be annoyed about that. It is the bed he's been using after all, and he knows he can just miracle the mess gone, but it's the principle of the thing.

"Umm, I think you need to relax a bit," Aziraphale suggests, with a cautious sort of nudge that does weird things to Crowley's insides.

"I am relaxed," he complains, in what he's willing to grudgingly admit is not a particularly relaxed tone of voice.

Aziraphale makes a dubious noise and draws his finger free, so he can press it in again, as if to make a point of some sort. 

"Really? Because you're very tight." Aziraphale says that like it's something he's trying to help with, and not the lewdest thing Crowley has ever heard from his mouth.

"I'm kneeling on a bed in a grubby backroom, I can't see anything, and you're trying to shove your fingers up my arse. I think this is as relaxed as I'm going to get."

Aziraphale gives a little sigh, as if Crowley is being difficult on purpose but cautiously starts to move at something approaching a pace. Crowley does try his best to relax into the sensation, but it's a really fucking odd feeling, and he can't quite work out what to do with it. It's just sort of there, a pushing stretch that feels weirdly indecent and more than a little undignified.

But when he's starting to think it's a not altogether terrible feeling, there's sharper pressure, stretching him out, a tight little burn at the edges.

"Ah."

Aziraphale stops moving. "Umm, that's two, should I have waited a bit, is it -?"

"It's fine," Crowley tells him, because that's the whole point isn't it, to stretch his arse out enough to take the angel's dick. "Just surprised me is all."

Two fingers feels like a lot, though Aziraphale seems to have oiled them both at least, so they're sliding in and out without too much trouble. It's bordering on unpleasant, but Aziraphale keeps making little 'oh' noises, that suggest he's watching Crowley take them. Which is sort of filthy and weirdly arousing, and Crowley can't help powering through the sting and starting to shift gently back and forth. If only to see what other noises he can pull out of the angel.

Aziraphale cracks out a breath, his other hand spreading over Crowley's buttock again and tugging him open just a little, what feels like a thumb curving and rubbing at the stretched rim of his anus. Yep, he's definitely watching. Filthy angel.

"Oh, ah, Crowley, that's rather...affecting. Can I try the - can I try to penetrate you now?"

Crowley sighs, decides the conversation about inappropriate and borderline creepy phrasing can be had another time, because he doesn't really want to be bent over all night, having a discussion about correct word choices.

"Yeah, fine, go for it."

There's a moment of shuffling, and what is quite obviously the press of Aziraphale's dick against the spare curve of his arse. He can feel Aziraphale's arm move to take hold of it, to lower it down to where he's slippery with oil and faintly achy. There's a sliding nudge of unpleasant pressure against his arsehole, and it feels like significantly more than two fingers. It takes less than a second for the pressure to turn into a unexpectedly painful burn, and Crowley flinches away.

"No, stop, that's not going in."

Aziraphale stops instantly, moving himself down and away. "Of course, I'm sorry, that seemed the next logical step, but perhaps I was a little overeager." He shuffles backwards a fraction on the bed, petting Crowley's hip in apology. 

"Yeah, so, maybe go back to the fingers."

"We did that part, exactly as they described," Aziraphale reminds him, like he wasn't there for all of it.

"Well do it better," Crowley tells him, a little more snappishly than he means to, but honestly, he's not the one taking random sex advice from strange men in a bars. 

There's another shift of the jar, and then Aziraphale is back, two fingers sliding back in with a weird sort of familiarity.

"So, should I perhaps try three then?" Aziraphale asks, and it's obvious he's going to follow Crowley's lead here, since his earlier research seems to have proven itself not entirely reliable. 

"Give it a second," Crowley says, through gritted teeth, because in the five seconds Aziraphale wasn't fingering him he seems to have clenched up again. Which he's annoyed about, apparently his body doesn't even know what it's for any more. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised though, he's never used this part of himself before, and suddenly it's expected to do bloody gymnastics.

Aziraphale doesn't protest but carefully goes through the two last steps they'd already done all over again, shuffling closer and laying tacky fingers on Crowley's lower spine, knee knocking into the oil jug. The dragging push of his fingers very slowly turning into an easy slide. So, great, they've reached the point they were at five minutes ago.

"Ok, ok, that's enough" Crowley says because it's starting to feel like maybe he's just bad at this, which is a suggestion he hates with a fiery burning passion. What sort of a demon is this bad at sex? He'll be a bloody laughing stock. "Put three in."

Aziraphale hums quiet enthusiasm, and Crowley feels it when he shifts his hand, when the easy slide of two because a far more invasive push of three. A group now, stretching his arse in ways he's not exactly pleased to experience. But three is better than sudden dick, if a little awkward to get in. 

"Are you, umm, feeling anything yet?" Aziraphale asks, sounding curious, and more than a touch hopeful.

Crowley really wants to say 'aside from your fingers in my arse,' but decides to hold his tongue, because Aziraphale is clearly trying here, and it's not like he's being rough. It's probably not his fault this doesn't seem to be doing anything for him. Nothing except leaving him hissing the occasional exhale as those fingers push in and out of his over-stretched arse, at what feels like the world's strangest, most uncomfortable angle.

"Like what?" he asks. And he's mostly asking for a distraction, something he can concentrate on.

"I've heard this can be very pleasurable," Aziraphale says, though he sounds more confused than certain. "If done correctly."

Oh, he's heard, he's _heard_ , that's so bloody helpful right now. Crowley isn't an idiot, he knows men fuck for pleasure. But at the moment he's not sure what exactly they're getting from it. Part of him wants to snipe back that Aziraphale is clearly doing it incorrectly then, but to be honest Crowley doesn't know for sure, and that feels mean when the angel is being so careful, trying so bloody hard. Maybe it's just supposed to feel like this? Or maybe he didn't hook the body up properly, didn't fit the bits that are supposed to enjoy this up quite right?

Aziraphale is three fingers deep, moving in a slow, steady rhythm, probably still watching the whole thing, great winged pervert that he is. But Crowley suspects he's starting to slowly, reluctantly accept the fact that Aziraphale's fingers are going to just be in him now, and the whole thing is a little easier.

"I mean it's a bit better now, I guess," he offers, reluctantly. Because he thinks Aziraphale deserves a bit of encouragement. He's the one that's supposed to be learning how to do this, and he's trying his best. It's not like they're human after all.

"Do you want me to try another?" Aziraphale sounds hopeful, and Crowley can tell that the angel really wants him to be enjoying himself. But that would effectively be all of his fingers, all of Aziraphale's fingers. Does this normally require all of the fingers? That doesn't seem likely. 

"Try the - uh, try your dick again, and if it's still uncomfortable I guess we're putting your whole damn hand in me."

"Don't say things like that," Aziraphale mutters breathlessly, but obediently slides his fingers free and shuffles closer. He's still solidly hard against the curve of Crowley's arse. The poor bastard's probably been hard the whole time. Crowley's dick seems to have given up in disgust. He'd thought about dropping a hand and trying to coax it erect, if only to reassure Aziraphale that he wasn't having a thoroughly miserable time. But he'd figured it wouldn't be worth it, not if something was just going to put him off again.

Aziraphale pours more oil, without having to be asked. They're going to need a bloody boat at this rate to get out of the room, he's going to be kneeling in it if it spreads any further across the scratchy blankets.

There's a nudge at the centre of him, the head of Aziraphale's cock sliding slickly against his hole, then pressing against it, more cautiously this time, with slowly increasing pressure. It still feels uncomfortably big, but Crowley decides that it's bloody well going in now, whether he likes it or not. He doesn't flinch away from the stretching burn this time, pushes steadily back onto it with a determined sort of obstinance.

Fucking Satan that hurts. But Aziraphale works himself in an inch or two, and then grips Crowley's hip with one hand, nails biting into the skin.

"Crowley," Aziraphale breathes, like he's been punched in the stomach, and Crowley can taste the lust coming off him, it's thick and spicy and so new from the angel, so clean, almost strong enough to feel on his skin. The fact that he's the one causing it, that he's the object of the angel's lust, is worth absolutely all of this. Every painful second of it. 

Though the angel seems to suddenly realise one of them's been suspiciously quiet since he started stretching Crowley's inconveniently tight arse open with his dick.

"Is this alright? Shall I pull out?" Aziraphale asks. There's a careful flatness to his voice, as if he's holding a lot of things in right now. But Crowley knows that he will, that he'll stop all of this in an instant if Crowley asks him to. He'll stop touching Crowley and get dressed, and they'll probably pour out more wine and sit next to each other drinking, and Crowley will feel like a failure and a disappointment - as usual. But he doesn't want to stop, he probably would have done this eventually anyway, and the idea of being this vulnerable, and uncomfortable, and confused, with anyone other than Aziraphale, is too horrible to think about. 

So he tilts his hips back a little and tries his best to sound encouraging.

"No, keep going."

Aziraphale gives a relieved sighing exhale, hands stroking at Crowley's tense waist, and starts sinking again with a low moan of delight. Crowley bites down on a hiss, because this is in no way a fun time for him, but he can tell Aziraphale is losing his entire fucking mind over it. Which is - fuck it - which is good enough for him.

"Come on, angel, put it all the way in."

Aziraphale swears, in a tone Crowley has never heard from him before, grip tightening on Crowley's hips, before he pushes in all the way. Crowley scrunches his eyes shut and resists the urge to curve into a horseshoe shape. He does lose all his air in one wheezing burst though. Fuck. _Fuck_. 

"Oh heavens." Aziraphale's fingers dig sharply into his hips, his weight leant into Crowley for a second, as he moans out a breath, and then rasps in a new one. "That's very, that's - what does it - Crowley - what does it feel like from your end?"

Crowley scowls miserably at the opposite wall, swallows thickly and tries to resist the urge to clench down, or shove him out entirely. 

"Invasive, too big, arsehole stings like a bitch."

Aziraphale's hands shift from Crowley's hips to his waist, then back again, a restless sort of movement that Crowley finds weirdly soothing.

"Are you sure you don't want to stop?" It's asked honestly enough, but Crowley can hear the disappointment. There's a breathy, shivery quality to the angel's voice that says Aziraphale is enjoying this. Aziraphale is having sex with him, and enjoying it. Which is almost enough to convince his cock that maybe it should rethink its current refusal to join in.

"No, it's fine," Crowley says carefully, because he's put up with worse discomfort than this, this isn't even reprimand from head office levels of inconvenient. It's just throwing him because he's in the body, all the way inside the skin, everything's oddly visceral and immediate like this, in this fragile human corporation. He swallows and considers the sensation for a second "Not so bad now you've done all the - y'know - finger work."

"Oh." Aziraphale sighs out a breath, fingertips digging in little spasms. Crowley can feel every throb of him from the inside, where he's made a space for himself, where Crowley's body has made a space for him - which is a strangely arousing thought. "Oh, thank you, that's good, that's - Crowley, you are exquisitely tight and it feels glorious."

Crowley will not fucking redden at that. He doesn't even care that no one can technically see it right now.

"Hnh, so yeah, go on then," he encourages.

"Really, you're alright if I...?"

_Start fucking you,_ Crowley doesn't hear that part, but it's definitely how that sentence ends.

"S'kind of the point, isn't it," Crowley reminds him. 

"And you'll tell me if I hurt you?" Aziraphale's fingertips dig and then relax as if he's constantly stopping himself from trying to drag Crowley closer. 

Crowley shifts his knees a touch apart, tries his best to relax around the girth of the angel's cock. "Yeah, angel, I'll tell you if I need you to stop." Aziraphale doesn't seem to notice the way he's phrased that slightly differently, which Crowley's more than happy about.

Aziraphale draws back and then pushes in again, a little harder than before. He makes the most delighted noise, though from Crowley's end it's mostly - ow, ow, ugh, motherfucker, ow. Satan's fucking balls, Aziraphale is lucky Crowley is stupidly un-demonically fond of him, because he's not sure he'd put up with this for anyone else. No, scratch that, he definitely wouldn't put up with this from anyone else. He shifts himself into a lower position, hoping that opening out a bit will help. Aziraphale is making soft, punched noises on every thrust, like this is the best thing he's ever felt. It's getting a little easier now, either that or Aziraphale has broken him. But either way it works. It's no longer such a painful shove and drag now, it's more a sort of over-full ache, over and over again. 

Crowley finds himself suddenly painfully glad that he's the one bent over on the bed for their first time, being shaken by every thrust, because he's not sure he would have had the same patience, would have been as careful, if it had been Aziraphale in his place, Aziraphale underneath him, plush buttocks spread for his pleasure.

His dick definitely takes an interest in that, at the very real possibility that Aziraphale might let him do that in the future.

"Fuck, Aziraphale -" He doesn't mean that, doesn't mean how surprised it sounds. But it makes the angel pause, a hot, shaken sound of need slipping free before he starts moving again.

Aziraphale leans into him a touch harder, tilting his hips so he can get deeper, and the next thrust goes in at a different angle, pushes hard against something inside him - for a second Crowley's all nerves and sensation, insides twisting in sharp, sudden pleasure, all the air punched out of him in a choked moan. He nearly bites through his tongue.

Aziraphale stills instantly at his strangled noise. "Crowley, I'm so sorry, Crowley, did I hurt you? Do you need me to pull out?"

"Ngk."

Aziraphale is sliding free of him in one panicked movement, that leaves Crowley making a confused, unhappy noise into his own arm at the sudden emptiness. 

"No, there was - that was - for a moment it was good," he chokes out.

"Really?" Aziraphale doesn't seem to believe him. He's quietly breathless, one hand still curled carefully round Crowley's waist.

"Yes, fuck, get back in." 

After a pause, Aziraphale obediently lines up and pushes back in again.

"Fuck, is there any more oil?" Crowley hisses out. "I think we've friction-burned most of it away."

Aziraphale nearly knocks over the jug, but Crowley has yet more oil shoved where oil probably doesn't belong, before Aziraphale slips back inside, and it's a little easier this time - or maybe Crowley's arse has just fucking surrendered to the whole business. He tries to curve into the same position as before, to get pressure in that spot, manages to win a few grazing jabs that have his spine clenching in interest, breath forced out of him in hot little gasps. Which Aziraphale seems to appreciate, because the pace is significantly faster, and that feels sort of dirty and human in a way he thinks he might like. There's a breathless, raspy, eager quality to Aziraphale's breathing now, and Crowley is enjoying that immensely.

Though his enthusiasm does make him slip out and jab uncomfortably against Crowley's balls a few times. Aziraphale's hasty apology and impatient push back inside is oddly arousing. The fact that Crowley's made the angel clumsy, that he's made him _desperate_. 

"Is this alright?" Aziraphale manages, between heaving gasps of air. "Is it too hard?"

"No, s'fine," Crowley tells him, because he's half way to an erection, and definitely no longer hating it. The sound of their bodies slickly thumping together is oddly thrilling, the very real sound of the angel using him for his pleasure. It's weirdly satisfying.

"I don't think I'm going to - oh - last much longer. Can I - can I come inside you?" Aziraphale's voice is breathless and desperate, almost pleading.

Crowley makes a startled, gurgling noise, because Aziraphale has never begged him for anything, and for some reason that's the most indecent, obscene thing he's ever heard in his life. And he absolutely wants it, he wants Aziraphale to rut helplessly into his arse until he comes. Fucking Hell, Crowley's hard enough now that if he could get a hand on himself he could come from this. Instead he's left braced on the bed, cock swinging roughly with every smack of Aziraphale's hips into his arse.

"Fuck, yeah, do that," he urges.

Aziraphale moans at the permission, starts moving in tight, hard thrusts that bruise Crowley's over-sensitive rim, and shake his insides in a way that isn't entirely pleasant. But the angel's fingernails are digging into the top of his arse, and he's making high, breathy noises, that suggest Crowley is the best thing he's ever experienced in his life. Which leaves Crowley feeling sort of shivery and eager, and he folds his spine a little more, curves over in a way that makes Aziraphale groan and press into him, rhythm breaking into a series of rough, grinding thrusts and then sudden stillness. 

Oh.

That is definitely a very _physical_ sensation. The wet little pulses of come inside him are oddly unexpected, and utterly filthy.

Crowley now knows what Aziraphale sounds like when he orgasms. He knows what he feels like, knows the weight of him, and the slightly sweaty grip of his hands on his narrow waist, and he finds himself making a soft, whimpery sort of noise and not entirely hating the strange burn of it all.

And then it's over, and Crowley is just uncomfortable and messy, and reconsidering how undignified this whole thing is for two, immortal, metaphysical beings of considerable power.

He pushes Aziraphale gently backwards, until his dick slips free, which is - fuck - barely better. Because now he has come running out of his sore arse, and he feels cored-out and empty. He carefully straightens, spine protesting with little clicks, and he considers whether getting rid of it all is cheating, decides very quickly that he doesn't care, banishes the soreness and the mess with a brief moment of concentration.

The erection he keeps, because he figures it's only fair he gets something out of it.

He reaches behind him, finds a sweaty, trembling hand and pulls until Aziraphale presses into his back, body curving pleasantly into him, and then lowers that hand to rest pointedly against his stomach. He hopes the request is fucking obvious, though he really doesn't want to make Aziraphale feel obligated to do anything. He's not going to beg for it.

The angel huffs a warm, surprised breath across the back of his neck. "Oh, do you want me to -?"

"I spent the last ten minutes bent over and split open on your cock, I think I've earned a handjob out of it. Do you want to help with it?" Whether it's his own hand or Aziraphale's he'll leave up to the angel. 

"Please don't say things like that," Aziraphale says shakily. Though he settles himself more comfortably along Crowley's back, in a way that says he's probably not going to refuse.

"You just fucked me," Crowley points out. "I think I can be as crude as I like."

Aziraphale gives a shaky burst of air against his throat. "Don't say things like that either."

"What? That you fucked me?" Crowley smiles where the angel can't see, sensing a weakness and deciding to dig his fingers in. "Don't pretend you didn't like it, I was there. _Filthy angel_. You know what you did. You forced a demon to his knees for you, pinned him there and watched him squirm while you stretched him open, then used him for your own pleasure, fucked his arse until you spilled inside him. "

"Oh Heavens," Aziraphale manages thickly.

"Now, are you going to leave him hard and desperate, or are you going to make him come?"

Aziraphale's hand hastily slips round his dick and squeezes deliciously tightly - makes Crowley choke a breath and push through his fist, with an indulgent sway of his hips. 

"Tha'sit, fuck, that's good." He does it again, then can't stop doing it.

He can feel the subtle grinding pressure of Aziraphale's groin working against him from behind. The angel's enjoying this, he's enjoying touching Crowley.

"If you get hard again it's not going back in my arse," Crowley warns him. 

Aziraphale makes a little noise of surprise that manages to be funny and arousing at the same time. "Oh, no, I don't expect -"

"Not unless you make it worth my while," Crowley adds, because any good experiment needs to be repeated more than once.

Aziraphale's hand tightens briefly, a glorious little squeeze, and he swallows audibly, other hand lifting and gripping at Crowley's hip, pressing himself in tighter.

"Oh, I could - what do you want? What would you like?" That's eager that is, that's honest eagerness from the angel, and Crowley has to tip his head back, let the side of his cheek drag against Aziraphale's.

"I want to feel your mouth on me," Crowley admits, too close to be anything but honest. "I want to know what that feels like. They always seem to enjoy it. I want to watch that, watch my dick slide in and out of your mouth." Aziraphale groans into his throat, some cracked little sound that might be agreement. His hand works on him harder, faster, pressing in tight behind him, and Crowley drops his free hand, cups his balls, feels every rolling push, every shift of muscle in Aziraphale's arm. And that's more than enough. He's catching Aziraphale's wrist, showing him how to work him through his orgasm just right, the bedding beneath them suddenly streaked with come. It's far more intense with someone else, or maybe just with Aziraphale. The warmth of it, the way the angel leans into him and shudders, while he's still trembling with aftershocks.

Crowley's still human enough to need a minute, to stop his breath sawing in his throat.

"I think that officially counts as experience in sexual practices," he says eventually.

Aziraphale laughs, and Crowley turns his head to tell him exactly what he thinks of the angel finding this so amusing.

Aziraphale's mouth is so close and it's far too easy for both of them to twist just a little further. To push their mouths together, in a way Crowley had seen a thousand times but never had the desire to try. Until they're kissing, and it's an awkward angle, but he doesn't care, because it's wet and messy, and deliciously new. Aziraphale's mouth is warm and it tastes like thunderstorms and cheap wine.

One arm wraps around Crowley's waist, curls and pulls until the angle isn't quite as awkward. The angel opens to him, and the kiss becomes something more complicated, sweeter, sharper. Crowley wants to sink right through him and come out the other side, and his whole body _rings_ with it. Aziraphale moans into his mouth, like he feels it too and wants exactly the same thing. They're so close together, close enough that they could touch if they let themselves slip just a fraction out of their physical bodies. Ethereal and occult, a tangle of light and shadow, and Crowley knows Aziraphale would be beautiful, he'd be vast and bright and unbearable, and he wants it, wants to tangle his cold, dark streams around him. He wants to see if their wavelengths could harmonize, if their vibrations could align just right -

The oil jug falls over with a hard crack, and they both break apart with a shockingly wet noise. Crowley's face feels embarrassingly warm, whole body coiled tight and aching.

Aziraphale exhales sharply, a rush of warm air over his mouth, it's half a word that sounds like his name, but never quite makes it out. He looks stunned and breathless, eyes on Crowley's mouth, and it makes everything inside Crowley twist and ache, feeling strangely naked and exposed all of a sudden. The angel clears his throat, makes a helpless sort of noise, and clears it again. His face is flushed red.

"I think we should perhaps keep this -" 

"Yeah," Crowley mutters quickly, before Aziraphale can say the words. "Of course, of course, not a problem."

"I realise these things can become...complicated, and we can't - we're opposing forces on earth and it would be -"

"Right, of course. You're absolutely right," Crowley agrees, and hates himself a little for agreeing so quickly. "Casual, absolutely, glad that you clarified."

Hell help him.


End file.
